


dead man's curve

by fempynchinsky



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, First Kiss, Street Racing, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23012533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fempynchinsky/pseuds/fempynchinsky
Summary: Eve Parrish’s eyes are usually blue, but at the moment, they’re liquid fire and brimstone. Her right hand, fine-boned but ragged, is curled out the window and over the roof, knuckles white as the paint job.orTwo kinds oftrashclimb into a Mitsubishi and find treasure.
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Adam Parrish
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	dead man's curve

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written for this fandom before and I have no idea what I'm doing, but I had the itch to write some girls racing. Entirely self-indulgent. 🤷♀️ Ronan is a girl here as well, but I couldn't settle on a first name for her, so that came out a bit ambiguous.
> 
> I'm new to tagging in this fandom, so let me know if there are established tags missing here!

Eve Parrish’s eyes are usually blue, but at the moment, they’re liquid fire and brimstone. Her right hand, fine-boned but ragged, is curled out the window and over the roof, knuckles white as the paint job. Kavinsky’s never seen her like this. Not when she was kicking the shit out of a tire like it would bleed if she caught it at the right angle. Not when Lynch was sulking around looking pitifully pussy-whipped, either, even if it was close. This Eve was electric in the night, half-stretched out the window into the whipping wind with the other arm, flipping the bird at Jiang as they push past. He yells something—probably _cunts_ , the unimaginative bastard— uselessly at their taillights. 

They don’t stop when they’ve won or when they lose sight of everyone, keep driving until they’re in some forgotten bend of a dead man’s curve that the state has bypassed. Preservation of life or some bullshit. She feels alive and eternally preserved driving straight into it, skidding around, screeching the brakes to pull them up along the barely there shoulder, thin and neat as a coke line. 

“Josie,” is what Parrish says when she catches her breath. Not Joey, like the boys call her, the sibilant hiss between those straight white teeth sizzling like sweat on hot asphalt. Not Kavinsky. “Josie,” she says again, more urgent, fumbling to unfasten the seat belt and swing all nearly six feet of her over the center console.

_This is a car crash_ , K thinks. _This is an instant fatality._ She’s finally gone out the way Proko did, the first time. Eve’s breath tastes like mint in the moment before their mouths touch, Ganseyboy appearing unwelcome in her mind’s eye, and then they’re the aftermath of an accident, nothing but a gasoline fire.


End file.
